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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188260">Float</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bottom Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Drug Use, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Injuries, Non-Explicit Sex, Top GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:09:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,674</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream just wanted to Float.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>179</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Float</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun shines through the transparent curtains, filling their bedroom with a pearlescent glow. It hits the empty cotton pillow beside him and a few bleary seconds later his eyes are fluttering open, eyelashes damp with the residue of sleep.</p><p>The bed is cold.</p><p>And empty.</p><p>Dream pushes down the disappointment that rises inside of him, knows he shouldn’t have expected any different.</p><p>Still, he’s never liked the feeling of waking up alone.</p><p>Most days George leaves for work long before he wakes up and sometimes doesn't come home until Dream is fast asleep. Yet somehow, he always feels when the bed dips and George' arm slides around his waist, his warmth keeping him from floating too far away.</p><p>He cherishes that warmth, misses it when it’s gone, and for the sake of not burdening George with any more shit than he already has to deal with, he pretends not to care.</p><p>He rolls over in the crisp, thin sheets, nuzzling into the pillow and inhaling the fading scent of George’ shampoo. The fabric is cold against his cheek. George’ been gone for a while already.</p><p>When he rises, the first thing he reaches for is the almost empty pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out and lights it with one of the few lighters scattered atop his mahogany nightstand. He takes a long drag, letting the nicotine soak in and sour his lungs, before resting his head back on George’ unused pillow and staring up at the yellowing paint on the ceiling.</p><p>He smokes until the ash meets the filter, lets the white paper fall into the glass tray, before pushing himself up with weak limbs. It takes a moment for his body and his mind to reconnect, for his legs to stand and lift the weight of his tall frame.</p><p>He ignores the bloodstains on George' side of the bed as he wastes the sheets before making his way to the bathroom for a hot shower.</p><p>He doesn't make breakfast that morning.</p><p>--- </p><p>George is smarter than he looks. Even if he doesn’t speak to it, he knows that Dream is suffering, knows that their relationship has put such a strain on the boy’s mental and physical state that he becomes unattached to reality for hours at a time.</p><p>He’s caught him staring blankly at the wall, for who knows how long before George came home, hours maybe, just waiting for the sky to turn dark. Because he knows dark is when his warmth returns.</p><p>He can see the way that Dream's once bright green eyes have dulled, glazed over in a film of emotional distress. The way he has permanent lines etched between his brows and by his mouth when he goes to kiss him.</p><p>Sure, he’s getting older. But it’s George that's making it worse.</p><p>He lives for the moments when he can come home before dark. When they can have a proper meal together because he knows Dream won’t cook just for himself. On nights where he makes enough, maybe once or twice enough, he’ll take Dream out to a nice restaurant and order him as many glasses of wine as he desires. He always orders two, but he never finishes the second glass.</p><p>He lives for those moments because, even if it’s just for a second, when he can make Dream smile or laugh, that brightness in his eyes returns. Because Dream will look at him like he’s still in love, like George is the best thing that ever happened to him.</p><p>Even though they both know deep down: he's the worst thing that could have happened to Dream.</p><p>And when George realizes he's selfish for not letting Dream go, he pushes the feeling away.</p><p>He pretends not to notice.</p><p>---  </p><p>02:17</p><p>George swipes at his lower lip with his tongue, tasting the metallic liquid seeping from the split skin.</p><p>He hates when Dream sees him like this.</p><p>He doesn't want him to be on the other side of that disapproving face. He doesn't want to be the cause of Dream's tears as he holds a wet cloth to his bloody lip or ice to his bruised eye.</p><p>He slugs his heavy jacket off and leaves it on the couch by the corner of the room, toeing off his shoes and sliding into the warm bed.</p><p>He showered at the gym, wiping away the evidence of sweat and blood on his body. It’s become a routine to hide from Dream, to avoid seeing him when his lip is so swollen it throbs or when his ribs are so bruised he struggles to breathe.</p><p>The moon is bright tonight, flooding into their room and ghosting around them like a blanket thick with fog. George can see Dream's bare skin from where the blanket has fallen down below his elbow. He's shirtless, with a pair of gray sweats hanging off his slender hip bones. His skin is almost translucent, every blueish grey vein visible beneath the surface.</p><p>George lies down beside him in their small queen bed and wraps his arms around Dream's slender waist, pulling his lithe frame into his chest. He's much thinner than George remembers. Maybe that’s because he hasn’t seen Dream shirtless in a few weeks, hasn’t touched his skin like this for longer.</p><p>He can’t remember the last time he held Dream late into the night and lathered his pale skin with loving kisses.</p><p>So that’s what he does.</p><p>He presses a kiss to Dream’s shoulder that protrudes ghastly from his skin, moves to his spine that is so clearly defined George could count each individual vertebrae if he tried.</p><p>Guilt washes through his body and settles deep in the pit of his stomach. He rests his chin in the crook of Dream’s neck, closing his eyes and allowing his hand to rest on the piano of ribs extending from his side.</p><p>He feels sick when he goes to sleep that night, but he tries to convince himself it’s from the blow to his stomach that caused him to lose the fight.</p><p>He pretends not to notice how shallow Dream’s breathing is.</p><p>---  </p><p>Dream wakes up alone again.</p><p>The bed is still molded to the curve of George' body and he rolls into it, absorbing the warmth radiating from the blankets. The scent of bacon wafts through the air but his stomach doesn’t react. He stopped feeling hungry a long time ago. His usual breakfast consists of a cigarette, or a few, and black coffee. </p><p>He doesn’t need food to survive anymore. The last time he had a proper meal was last month when George took him to a pho restaurant. The broth was good. He can’t remember if he ate the noodles.</p><p>After pushing himself up and wincing at the way his bones ache and crack in protest, he climbs out of the bed and over to the broken dresser in the corner of the room.</p><p>He looks in the mirror for the first time in days.</p><p>He's smaller. His cheekbones are unnaturally sharp and his eyes are sunken in. His skin looks sickeningly pale. He looks normal. At least as normal as he did last week.</p><p>He wonders what people think when they look at him. Do they see someone normal? Can they tell from the lifeless look in his eyes that he's in love with someone who can only tear him apart, without being able to put him back together? Probably not.</p><p>Dream pushes the thought away and throws on an old sweatshirt to cover himself. He doesn’t like when people can see him. It makes him feel real.</p><p>He doesn’t want to be real.</p><p>He walks down the creaking stairs, listens to the walls settle and the sound of sizzling from the kitchen. When he sees George standing at the stove, he’s wearing track pants and a hoodie with Dream’s apron tied around his waist. He’d forgotten about that old thing. George turns and smiles at the sound of his footsteps and it takes a moment before Dream smiles back.</p><p>When he sits down at the table, he realizes it’s the first time he's smiled in a long time. His skin feels tight and aches at the pull of his lips.</p><p>Maybe he should moisturize.</p><p>---  </p><p>Dream's lips are drier than he remembers but George still kisses him anyway.</p><p>His normally pale skin is flushed pink, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He feels more alive than he has in weeks.</p><p>George holds him close and Dream is drowning in his scent, soaking in every second of warmth. Fingers are digging into his hipbone and gripping at his curls and he’s too overwhelmed by it. There’s too many fingers, two too many hands touching him, trying to keep him from floating away.</p><p>Dream wants to float.</p><p>He wraps a hand around his own cock, unused to the length of it when aroused, and cries out at a strategically angled thrust. Pleasure trembles through his body, goosebumps rising to his translucent skin.</p><p>George stills his hips and Dream can feel his cock throbbing inside of him as he orgasms, can feel his panting breath against his ear, both a terrifying reminder that he’s alive and real.</p><p>Dream doesn’t want to be real.</p><p>He cums over his own chest that’s become nothing but an ugly cage for his organs, and let’s the high carry him away.</p><p>He floats.</p><p>---  </p><p>00:13</p><p>George comes home.</p><p>He takes care of his fractured rib with an ace bandage and a heating pad before lying down in bed. George wraps an arm around Dream and his skin feels colder than usual.</p><p>He doesn’t move or cuddle into him like every other night when he slips into bed after Dream’s asleep. There’s no shallow breathing or light snores but George is too tired to worry, in too much pain to think. So he falls asleep holding the skeleton of the man he loves close without noticing the empty pill bottle that rolled under the bed.</p><p>Dream just wanted to float.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ty for reading. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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